Losing Infinity
by Absi B
Summary: Myridine- a new wonder drug that could give Hazel Grace Lancaster more of her life back. The death of Augustus has rocked her hard, and it's an everyday struggle for Hazel to stop her from losing their little infinity. Rated T for mild language.
1. Prologue

**Welcome to my latest work! The inspiration for this came completely out of the blue, and this chapter is more of a prologue to the main story.**

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My mum, my dad and I had been invited to Dr Maria's office for some very important news. Dr Maria had told us that it wasn't the sort of news to be given over the phone. Which, of course, got all three of us very worried. I'd had enough bad news over the years to last a lifetime, but the universe, it seemed, was never finished with me. As soon as my mother put down the phone and repeated to my dad and I what had happened, my mind started to race through all of the possibilities.

Had the scan I'd had last week shown that my tumours were getting even more out of control? That the Phalanxifor was no longer working, and I wasn't going to last much longer? I know I've had to live with the reality of my own imminent death for a while now; it's been following me around ever since my diagnosis, and I've never been sure when it'll strike. I thought I'd be okay with it when it came down upon me faster and with more certainty, but… I feel scared. I'm not as accepting of death as I thought I was, I guess.

Well, after what happened two months ago, I don't think I can ever be accepting of death. It's too cruel.

"I'm sure it's nothing," my mum commented in a reassuring voice.

"If it's nothing, then why can't she tell us over the phone?" I snapped back, turning away and dragging my cart up the stairs in as much of a huff as I can manage. Being reliant on something else to keep you breathing makes it really hard to get properly pissed off at people. I can't storm off like others can.

I pushed open the door to my room and grabbed my laptop, logging onto my profile page to try and take my mind off my probable impending doom. The first thing I saw when the webpage loaded was a photo of Gus and I- it breaks me every time I look at it, but I'm never going to change it. Unfortunately, it also filled my mind with the one thing that I'd been trying to avoid.

Cancer.

It's strange, how six letters can make people so scared. After four years of being poked and prodded half to death trying to dance its impossible tango, I don't fear it anymore. It just annoys me. It annoys me that, in a world where we claim to be so advanced, we have to resort to almost primeval methods to overcome stuff still. It also annoys me because it's almost a fate worse than death. You can't live, but you can't die either, stuck in that interminable limbo where you're never sure of anything.

The biggest reason why it annoys me is because it's so painful to be an outsider. I've never really known it, but I do know that seeing someone you love slowly waste away, attacked from the inside out by invisible biological soldiers, is even harder than being the one dying. And _that _I do know. You can accept your own death, to a point, but accepting the death of someone you love is so much harder.

I still haven't accepted his death.

Since one glance at my profile sent me spiralling down into the realm I didn't want to delve into, I quickly logged off and pushed the lid of my laptop shut none too gently. Rolling over carefully, I grabbed my well- loved copy of An Imperial Affliction and flipped open the cover. As my eyes skimmed the first page for the I-don't- know- how- many-th time, Gus' voice echoed in my head, reading the first sentences to me as I laid contentedly by his side.

Instinctively, I glanced to my left, for my eyes to meet only empty bed.

"Dammit!" I said out loud. It seemed like no matter what I did, the paranoia about my upcoming meeting with Dr Maria was all- pervading. Nothing I did could take my mind off it. I sighed, hooked myself up to Philip, and laid down to sleep, even though it wasn't particularly late. Cancer perks. At least that way, maybe I could get a couple hours' respite from my thoughts.

Mum shook me awake what seemed like only minutes later. "Hazel, wake up honey, we're going to be late!" I opened my eyes a crack and glanced at the clock. She was right- it was less than an hour until the scheduled bad news ceremony at the hospital. My mum switched me over to a portable tank, and I quickly got up and threw on the first clothes I could find that matched. I ended up wearing a pale green t- shirt over blue jeans, and my Converse. The three of us walked out the door together, in a slight hurry because we were almost late.

The atmosphere inside the car on the way to the hospital was tense, to say the least. We just sat there in silence, the only sounds the growl of the engine as we accelerated, and the gentle ticking of the indicator as we turned. When we pulled into the car park, I heard my mother gulp, and I could see that my dad was trying to hold back tears. So much for having faith.

We parked up, then made our way through the sliding doors of the entrance in a line together, as always. I don't know why we chose to walk in like that, but it felt a bit more like we were the front line of an army marching into battle. Which we were, in a way. It was just that the front line was inside me.

Taking the usual elevator to the third floor, where the oncology department was located, we stood and listened to the elevator music, our minds so far away that the sounds barely penetrated our consciousnesses.

Dr Maria was there to meet us as we stepped from the elevator. "Hazel," she said warmly. "Come with me." Dr Maria led the way to her office, holding the door open for us as we stepped through and took our usual places at her desk: my father standing to my left, my mother, seated, at my right, and me, right in the middle. Dr Maria sat down opposite me, folding her hands about on the desk.

"Are you worried right now?" she asked me. I nodded.

"Well, I'm pleased to tell you that there isn't anything for you to be worried about. In fact, I've got some amazing news. Some new research has been done for some new medication, and it's been approved!"

"How… how does this affect me?"

"It's designed to work like Phalanxifor, but with fewer side- effects and greater reliability and positive effects. We've managed to get hold of some, and, if you want it, we can provide you with a few courses and see how it goes. It could extend your life by months, years even, if it all goes well."

My spirits had soared higher and higher with each word, as did my parents'. I glanced up at their happily smiling faces, happy along with them. But I'd been subject to a whole lot of false hope, and I didn't want to have to fall too far.

Assuming a more business-like tone, I said, "What sort of chances are we looking at here?"

"Well, our tests have shown that people who've responded well to Phalanxifor will respond well to the new drug, and you've been our most promising patient yet. Mostly, there was a reduction in the speed of tumour growth, and some tumours have actually shrank. So, I'd say that it's got a pretty high chance of working well for you. What do you say?"

I looked back up at my parents, who grinned and nodded encouragingly.

"I think it sounds great. When do I start?"

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**A/N: I do have an idea of where I'd like to take this, and I hope to be updating it soon. I hope you enjoyed the prologue, and don't forget to tell me what you think!**


	2. Answerphone

**Welcome! I'm sorry to admit that the plot hasn't properly started yet, and that this will be a slow burning story, rather than a fast- paced one. I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to tell me what you think!**

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I stared down at the pair of small white pills that could be my miracle. My third miracle. First came Phalanxifor. Second came Gus; finally, this. I think that sometimes we have too much of a reliance on insentient beings, that we should stop sitting around on our phones and laptops all the time and start actually talking to people. It's turned us all into hermits, people afraid of stepping out. Like the feeling you get when you're sitting on a bus or a train or a plane, and everyone is in silence and you're so scared of ruining the sacred transport silence that you keep your mouth shut, even if this really attractive guy is sitting right opposite you. I've felt it a few times, but not recently; recently, it's been more of the fear that the only thing a person will see when they talk to me is the oxygen, and the cancer, and it's all they'd talk about, too. It's like I don't even have a face anymore. When people come up to me, they act all awkward just because I look different.

Illness repulses and attracts simultaneously. You're repulsed because you think you can catch the disease (seriously, I have actually met a few people who wouldn't come near me because they thought they could catch my cancer. And they say we live in an information- rich world), but it interests you because the kid with the illness is different. They're not the normal, and people notice things that aren't normal. You could probably walk down a road without anybody taking any notice of you at all. When I walk down a road, it feels like I'm the only thing that matters to the other people around me all of a sudden.

I'm sick, and people are turning it into their entertainment. I bet that, as I walk past, they're all judging, guessing my disease, guessing my age and how long I've got left, guessing what happened to me. They're not alone- I know I've done it a few times too. Whenever I see a person worse off than me I feel a little better. But, honestly, I think I'd get less attention if I walked down the road in a jester's hat.

I took the pills, my miracle, the insentient beings I don't mind relying on, from my cupped palm and tipped them delicately into my mouth, before lifting a glass to my lips and swallowing the pills with the water. I'd been warned of the side effects- nausea (but this happens so often now, it's not really a side effect in my book), dizziness or faintness and possible sleeplessness- but they're nothing like the multitude of problems that came with Phalanxifor.

"How do you feel? Any different?" my mother asked; she'd crept up behind me while I was distracted.

"Give it a chance, Mom," I said. "I think you've got to give it more than thirty seconds to work."

She chuckled, before turning away from me and heading out of my bedroom and down the stairs. I didn't feel any different; it didn't seem like anything new had happened. It didn't seem like my life could just have been turned around. I turned around myself, hoping that the rest of my life would follow me, and sat back down on my bed, pulling out my laptop and wanting to talk to someone, but finding nobody. The only person I wanted to talk to right then was the only person I would never speak a word to again. And… I can barely even remember his voice anymore, his beautiful tones that words spoken with them seemed to hold new meaning. I mean, I can remember the important times, like when he read to me, and when he told me everything in Amsterdam, but that's not the same as remembering everything.

I don't want to be the kind of mourner that only remembers a person in the best possible way. I want to remember the good times, the happy times, but I want to remember the sad times too. His scent, which had long lingered about me, was finally gone, the last atoms of his existence wiped from my bedroom. I would never gaze into his blue eyes, never touch his soft hands, never taste his perfect lips, never smell his musky sweetness, and never hear his smooth voice again. No, the only place I would be able to do any of that was my memory, and that's just not the same. When people remember others, they do so in a warped and beautified way, one which comforts the mourner, but distorts their view of reality, makes everything okay just for them.

I picked up my phone and dialled his number; it was still number one on my speed dial, and it always would be. Gus will be my number one, forever and always. No matter where he is, he's still first.

Our infinity may not have seemed very large to an outsider, but to Gus and I, it was an infinity that could never end. Our infinity is bigger than _every _other infinity.

The phone rang a few times. I was surprised the number was even still connected. Then I realised- the reason it hadn't been disconnected was because Gus' parents still hadn't the heart to go down there and get it. The basement room had lain, untouched by anyone but me, for two months. Dust would be gathering, memories would be fossilising, and books would be lying, forgotten. So many times have I wanted to go back there one more time, to spend another few minutes there, but I've never quite been able to bring myself to do it.

I've never quite been able to bring myself to go back somewhere within me that lies so painfully deep, where dreams are broken almost as quickly as they are made, and where I visit the mental grave of my beloved Gus. Which is something I find stupid. I should remember, right? I shouldn't just lock it away. I owe it to him to keep remembering him, and yet all I do is avoid remembering for my sake. For my sake. That's a lame reason. You should remember people even if it hurts you, because the people that hurt the most are the ones that deserve to be remembered.

Finally, the answerphone message arrived, and my ear was filled with a tinny replica of the guy I'd never hear again.

"Hello, you've reached the answerphone of Augustus Waters. If you'd like to leave a message or something so I know who you are, feel free. I'll call you back if your message interests me. If it doesn't… well, I'll phone anyway, if only to inform you that you are, in fact, a very boring telephone conversationalist. Here comes the tone!" The beep came and went, a short second of sharp noise to contrast with Gus' smooth voice. With every word, I was dragged farther and farther into myself, into that deep place where I dared not tread. His voice pulled my kicking and screaming consciousness down there, me resisting all the way, even though the only thing I wanted to do for every second of my waking minutes was think of him.

I reached up to my face, and found cool tears. They were welcomed; I'd gone too far to leave them un- cried. I curled up, sobbing silently into my pillow, phoning Gus' number again and again, listening to his voice, then hearing the silence after the beep and sitting there, not knowing what to say. Each time I heard the beep, it was like the life support machine that kept him breathing was turned off, again and again and again. Every beep made me think of his final moments, of how his breathing would have slowed, how his heart would have contracted for its last time, then how the machine would start the ominous long beep that fills all hearts with the greatest sadnesses. All the still beating hearts, that is.

Sometimes, I think about how lucky, and how selfish, the dead are. They're not around to know how much they've hurt others, and they don't have to be the ones getting hurt. No, they're just going around leaving their mark on others, and not giving a damn about anyone else. Sometimes, I think it would be nice to be dead, but then I realise how much I've still got to live for, and that banishes all of those thoughts from my mind.

I've got a reason to fight now. Another reason, other than so that my parents won't have to cry over the freshly mounded earth quite so soon. I've got to live for Gus. I've got to live his life, the years that were so cruelly stolen from him. I've got to have the memories that he would have had, if Fate had not snatched the time needed to make them so diabolically from his grasp.

As I lay there, the tears moistening my pillow, I thought only of Gus, and the memories we could have shared, but were now only mine; I longed for a way to share them with him. Only this time, I thought of him as an angel, floating high above, looking down and seeing my longing for him written all over my face.

I hope he likes it. I hope he likes what he's done to me. He's destroyed me, but there's no thing I'd rather be, if it meant that I would not get to meet the guy who changed my life, and continues to, even after he's lost his battle for life.

I'm taking these drugs for you, my Augustus. I'm making us both memories, and I'll share them with you when I make it up there. Don't worry. We won't be apart for much longer.


End file.
